


Runaway Time

by HeroInTraining



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Family Feels, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:09:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11825553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeroInTraining/pseuds/HeroInTraining
Summary: Behind every legend is a person. Behind every person is a child. People tend to forget that. Commander Pandora Shepard in particular, hero to so many, was once a little girl, a little girl who just wanted to grow up with her family. Her story, like so many others, had a different path to take.





	Runaway Time

**Author's Note:**

> First up, thanks so, so much to my beta Ara, Bard of Heartdive. Under her much needed guidance this story became something much, much better than its original version. Thanks a million. Secondly, thank you to Sauko for producing the artwork accompanying this story and to Johanna, who contributed a playlist when I thought all was lost. Here's the link to the awesome playlist that I totally recommend listening to:   
> http://joufancyhuh.tumblr.com/post/164316058622/mebb-story-found-here-requiem-for-a-dream

“Mommy, where do babies come from?”

The mother of the little girl asking the question paused. Her jacket hung from her shoulders revealing a tight black and blue security uniform. “Sentinel” was plastered across her shoulder blades in large white letters. “Biotic” was displayed across the armbands squeezing her biceps. Her boots hung out of the shoebox, keeping with the rule of no shoes in the house. She hung her jacket from a peg on the wall and entered the modest kitchen. There stood her youngest daughter rummaging through a cabinet, her tiny feet perched precariously on the edge of the counter. Before she could fall Nicole Shepard ran in and wrapped her muscled arms around her daughter’s slim frame. 

“What are you doing up there? Where’s your sister?” She set the six-year-old on the small island. Checking her for bruises and scratches, Nicole moved to clean up the resulting mess.

Pandora kicked her legs from the edge, satisfied now that her mother was there. She pointed to a series of drawers, each with handles protruding past the counter, thinking the answer simple. “I climbed, Mommy. Duh. And Tori wouldn’t let me come outside with her.”

Nicole shook her head at her daughter’s innate climbing ability. This was not the first time she found Pandora atop the television or clinging to the ceiling fan. She just wished Tori wouldn’t run off while home alone babysitting. Her behavior matched that of a typical child, but usually she was fine when charged with protecting her little sister. Victoria and her twin Clinton were only turning ten the next day. Rather young to act as babysitters, but those with actual qualifications ran short in a town where everyone over the age of sixteen was required to hold a job in the mines. Nicole made do. Besides, she was confident her twins inherited at least some of her biotics. Nicole retrieved a cake pan and mixing bowl, setting them beside a box of blue cake mix. Her daughter smiled in eagerness. While it was in the oven she curled up with Pandora on the couch. 

“What made you wonder where babies come from, pumpkin?” she asked.

Peering up from her mother’s chest, Pandora answered, “On the way home from school a boy said biotics can’t have babies. He said we were adopted so you don’t really love us. Tori beat him up. You love us, right Mommy?” 

“Of course I love you. You and Tori and Clint are my Three Musketeers, remember?” At that Dora giggled. “No matter where you were born I’d still love you. Either way, you’re mine. Where else would you get this?” Nicole playfully grabbed her daughter’s nose. Pandora’s giggles turned into full-out laughter. The high-pitched chime was infectious; soon both of them were rolling around the living room, tickling and wheezing and fighting for dominance. Eventually Nicole forced wispy blue tendrils around Dora, stubbornly clinging to her chest. They pulled her to the far end of the room. At that moment the oven beeped, spurring them back to the kitchen. Icing already sat in bowls on the table alongside wide varieties of sprinkles. Their sugar-induced gaiety didn’t last long, however, since the doorbell rang. 

“Shoot, I forgot piano was today,” Nicole said from her position in the refrigerator. “Go bother your brother.”

Pandora leaped up. Bothering her siblings was her specialty. Before Clint stepped over the threshold he was attacked by sixty pounds of little sister. He managed to catch her and spin her around, limbs flying everywhere. They laughed in unison. Dora threw his bags over her own in front of the closet door and tugged his sleeve, practically dragging him outside. Together they tore up and down the street, racing and laughing and playing games. Victoria joined them for Man From Mars. Some local girls quickly organized teams. Gradually the sun set, leaving watermarked shadows on the houses and growing flora overcoming their weakness of sunlight. Parents emerged from hover cars to collect their children. Among them was the eldest of the Shepard clan John, home from the iridium mines. The three youngsters put up quite a fight but were eventually soothed with a promise of visiting their aunt and her family tonight. Family dinners at the Flock household were the highlight of the week. Reehah vas Mindoir and Emily Flock were always the life of the party. Just mentioning their names brought the children back to reality. They raced home to change, homework and grudges long forgotten.

Ten minutes later the Shepards arrived at the small, cozy home three streets down. Immediately upon opening the door Reehah was assaulted by young children. He scooped up Pandora, by far the smallest, and tickled her stomach. She squealed in delight and fought for control, somehow minding the buckles and flaps keeping his enviro suit together. He treated the Shepards like his own. They were his family more than the Fleet ever had been. For years he debated a relationship with a human, a biotic no less. Two powerful biotics, the Flock sisters were, orphaned on Earth until Nicole lied about her age to join the new Sentinel program. Emily recently applied for the Vanguard Initiative. Her training started the next week. Reehah didn’t want to get involved with biotics, the most feared unknowns in the galaxy, but Emily’s stubbornness was second only to Nicole’s. If she wanted to formally bond herself with an alien unable to leave his suit, so be it. If she wanted to adopt children orphaned by the mines to make amends with her childhood, he was all for it. If she wanted to join an Alliance program new to the decade, he would gladly stay at home to watch baby Wyatt while she practiced. Reehah may once have been slave to his ship, but now it was to a devoted family.

Emily emerged from the kitchen with a baby in one arm and a plate of meat in the other. At the sight of her sister she beamed. “Right on time, sis. How strange.”

“Just because you say six doesn’t mean I always show up at seven.” Nicole unveiled a plastic tub of fudge. “I even remembered dessert.”

“That’s the only thing you can remember. It can go with the b-r-o-w-n-i-e-s in the oven.” Emily spelled out the word, hoping it would fly over the kid’s heads. At that moment five-year-old Destiny appeared. “Why don’t you show your cousins to their seats, Desy? Mommy wants to talk.”

Destiny grabbed Pandora’s hand, who in turn returned the tight squeeze and fiddled with the hem of Victoria’s skirt in the other. John followed to keep them entertained. Reehah took the opportunity to hug Nicole, who practically fell into his arms. Biotic training was by far the toughest event she endured. Once upon a time she viewed the Human Systems Alliance as one viewed Hollywood superstars. Vids painted Soldiers and Engineers, the only branches available during her youth, as a position solely for the elite. If she hadn’t known any information tying her to the legal system, Nicole certainly would have never gotten away with enlisting at sixteen. As it was she barely scraped by, trying and failing at holding the front lines as a Soldier would. Engineering by itself proved much too passive. It wasn’t until 2150 that overt biotic specialists made history as the Alliance’s first Adepts, Sentinels, and Vanguards. Part of the first graduating class of Sentinels, Nicole was the last remaining biotic on Mindoir. The rest were relocated to teach more efficient biotic training camps, were killed in the mines, or died performing security, their original paid job. As Nicole liked to joke, she was the last of her kind, a dying species. Sooner or later Nicole would be gone, quickly followed by the rest of her family. But morbid jokes held no place at a birthday celebration.

Small talk melted away when Emily asked, “Any word on that pirate cell four clicks out?”

Nicole shook her head. Just because she worked security didn’t mean anybody told her anything. She only learned about said pirates through John, who bit the grapevine in the mines. “So far we’re busy protecting the schools. These kids are too young to know anything yet.” Her eyes flitted to her own children, busy lobbing napkin rings at each other. So young, so precious. So naïve to the ways of the galaxy. Sooner rather than later they would be exposed to the harsh truth that was reality. If Nicole had anything to say about it, her babies would never grow up, never end up biotics, never leave the warm embrace of certainty. Alas, she was also well aware of how asinine the notion was, and decided now was the time to crack a joke. “Before you know it Wyatt will run around complaining there’s nobody left to fight.”

“Shut it, Coley. Unlike some people I don’t dream about losing my babies to time.”

Something in the oven dinged. Dinner was ready. The adults piled heaps of food on plates, alternating until everyone was satisfied. From the first moment Destiny and Pandora launched into an elaborate tale involving thresher maws, unicorns, and characters from one of Nicole’s twenty first century plays. Clint and Victoria sat enraptured by Reehah’s wild adventures out in the native jungles. Emily swapped stories with John while Nicole chimed in wherever she could. Merry conversation lit the room for hours. Come nightfall the children were regretfully dragged away with threats of bedtime. Goodbyes were exchanged, hugs and kisses granted, last minute leftovers shoved into impatient hands. Still they whined and complained. Your birthday only comes once a year, after all. Several moments later the Shepards were en route to their home. 

o8o

Clint’s mouth didn’t close the entire way home the following day. School apparently was very eventful; happy birthday was performed in music class, several teachers told him personally, Pandora insisted upon throwing a party for the fifth graders, and a cupcake waited in his lunchbox. He had been warned about the sudden influx of attention, but he didn’t mind. Once a year it happened, and once a year his peers forgot he was the son of a biotic destined to inherit more than his mother’s looks. The entire day poured out in minute detail, down to the exact display of sprinkles on his cupcake. To her credit, Pandora kept an air of fascination about her without wavering. Both twins entered phases where every detail had to be described with no filter. As he opened the door Victoria tackled him from behind, having taken a different route home to chat with friends. Together they fell to the doormat sporting a cheerful welcome. Clint’s thick backpack cushioned his fall, but Tori’s weight knocked the wind out of him. Somehow he twisted around, only to be greeted with a face full of excited ten-year-old.

Reluctantly Tori let him stand. She brushed off the dirt clinging to her dress and straightened her necklace. Birthdays were always considered a special occasion; special occasions warranted dressing up in your Sunday best. No one inside reacted to the scuffle on the front stoop. Something told Tori no one was home. She located the spare key atop the door and gestured to Pandora to enter first. She followed, tossing Clint the key to lock the door behind them. Deciding that because it was her birthday she was granted special immunities, Tori turned on the television and booted up a video game. Soon enough her brother and sister joined in. Together they mimed swordplay, gun fighting, and physical combat. Only once did Tori glance at the clock and wonder why neither of her parents were home. However she did not dwell on the thought; all she cared about appeared on the screen before her. 

An hour passed, then two. Pandora began complaining of hunger. Tori halfheartedly assured her Daddy would be home soon. Clint paused the game to locate a snack. A loud noise drew Tori to the window. Nothing at first, then another boom, this time so powerful it shook the thin pane of glass. Her curiosity lit, she unlocked the front door and wandered into the street, signaling her siblings to remain indoors. Of course they did not listen. They drifted down their vacant street, quiet as ghosts. Unsatisfied with the lack of answers, they made their way to the town’s main square. The sights awaiting them immediately made them regret ever leaving the safety of their home.

Batarian pirates swarmed the square. All had menacing guns strapped to their backs and sturdy armor hooked to their limbs. Ships hovered above the trees. Broken glass littered the street. Already the batarians were dragging bodies into ramshackle piles on every corner. Others barked orders at civilians cowering in rows on the curbs. Miners heading their section of those caught at work, children kept separate from their parents, and soldiers off to the side. Nicole could only be seen far off in the distance. Every time a child cried a bullet shot the air millimeters away from their head. Any adults who dared disobey found themselves on the heap. Fear and tension rang through the air, permeating the molecules of the three children watching their mother be raped by a senseless batarian.

Oh, she fought. To the day she died Pandora remembered the way Nicole twisted and turned in the alien’s grip, the way she dragged her shirt over her breasts with her elbows. Later on Pandora wished she had showed that much courage in such an awful situation. As a six-year-old, however, all she could do was stare. Stare and have scarring images seared into her brain that would linger long past death. She found herself hidden behind her twin siblings, their birthday forgotten the moment they stepped into the square. The children watched in horror just out of sight. They stared, mouths agape, as Nicole finally let loose the biotics flickering beneath her skin. Warp knocked the batarian unconscious. Her fellow soldiers took it as cue to begin to fight back. Without guns they kicked and punched, bit and clawed their way through scores of enemies. Another image Pandora would remember forever: the last stand between her home and its conquerors. How, as she stood paralyzed with fear, Clint tackled an oncoming batarian with a gun pointed at his sister’s head. How he found the strength to protect and defend. How when backup arrived her first instinct was to run without any regard for Clint and Tori. For years Pandora’s deepest regret was abandoning her family when they needed her most. She never had a chance to rectify the regret. 

Her new position within a bush offered not only more security but also a better view of the carnage around her. Staring in shock, Dora didn’t feel the hand close around her shoulder. It took a vigorous shake to jolt her back to reality. She whipped her head around in search of attackers. There were none. Instead the tiny form of Luna gaped anxiously at Pandora. Luna, one of a set of three all but adopted by the town. Luna, the self-proclaimed best friend of Dora. 

“Luna?” she said incredulously, or as incredulously as a terrified six-year-old can sound. “Why aren’t you with a mommy?”

“Gianna and Maisy are out there.” Luna pointed a quavering finger at the rows of civilians.

Poor Pandora couldn’t take many more shocks like that. First her home, then her parents, and now her best friends. Her knees buckled. Her bouncing ponytail tickled the nape of her neck. She very nearly collapsed. Instead she forsook any thought of cover and bolted for her mother. Nicole stood mere yards away, fighting for her life while John attempted to defend his family in a losing battle. Watching but not comprehending, Dora saw the omni blade enter his neck. His body stopped all movement. The sight caused her to move faster toward her mother, into open waiting arms. Nicole grasped her daughter in a tight hug. A flickering biotic bubble enveloped them. Time stopped for the briefest of moments. Warmth washed over Pandora, who shrank into the bruised arms protecting her from the insanity at every corner. Tears dripped down her face, too mature to be her own. Same with blood, but blood knew no boundaries. Safely wrapped in Nicole’s twitching blue dome, Pandora forgot there was a war going on. Loud screams permeated the air, the two of them paying no attention, even when one sounded suspiciously like Tori. A gunshot echoed through her ears. Nicole’s eyes opened wide in realization, in acceptance of her fate. Then there was a loud boom. And then her world went black.

Dora felt all of her mother’s substantial weight fall on her stick-like arms. She felt the blood gushing from the L1 implant. Of course they hit her where it hurt: the implant granting Nicole incredible powers. Her pupils, black as the guns and as large as the moon, reflected Pandora’s fear. The brown of her irises lost all warmth previously reserved for her youngest daughter. Collapsing under the body, Dora lay there a moment longer than many would consider healthy. Worming out, dress slick with her mother’s life, Dora sobbed. She turned the lolling head, poked the pale cheeks, shook the limp shoulders with ferocity enough to wake the dead. Her young brain refused to admit her family was gone. She called for Nicole to wake up, to say everything was alright, to give any sign of life. Passing seconds slowed down, this time taking on a new meaning. Hissing gunshots missed her skull by centimeters, but she didn’t notice. It wasn’t until an image of the familiar pulled her out of her trance did she remember a battle raged beyond them.

“Pandora! We have to move!”

She stared up helplessly at her Uncle Reehah, who swaddled baby Wyatt in his arms. If he arrived solely with the baby that meant… No. She would continue to believe Emily was alive. Alive and fighting and protecting Destiny with her final breath. Reehah shouted at Pandora, shouts sounding an awful lot like the vicious snarls of the batarians. Instinctively she uttered another sob. In response Reehah grabbed her tiny hand and lead her back to her own home. Hurriedly pushing her inside, he explained Nicole ordered him to hide with the children, as many as he could find. First he was to check the church. No dice, the batarians closed off all of Central Square. So he did the next best thing: Nicole’s personal library. She loved Earth literature. Some of her books dated to the ninteenth century. Hardly anyone collected paper books these days; it was all advanced e-readers slowly becoming outdated to more advanced omni-tools. Therefore, why would an alien with no knowledge of a random woman’s obsession with books think to check a library? Reehah hoped they followed that line of thought. If not, well… Pandora was better off not knowing the answer.

Reehah repeatedly had to nudge her along. She kept slowing her pace, trying to return to where her parents’ bodies lay. Deep down he realized Clint and Victoria most likely did not make it. Most if not all of the bodies in the square did not have a pulse. He didn’t have the heart to reveal the additional details though, not to the girl whose sparkling violet eyes lost all traces of hope. Such a sight should not be seen on a young, bright, bubbly six-year-old. Yet there it was, and Reehah knew exactly why. He didn’t betray any of this. Instead he locked the front door behind him and ushered Pandora into the living room. The television still showed the pause screen of their video game, happy music counteracting the mood. Everything was how they left it. Dora made a move towards the kitchen, prompting him to wonder if it was her hunger that caused the Shepard children to leave their house in the first place. Reehah wanted so badly to hand her a leftover piece of fudge-coincidentally one of her favorite foods-and say everything was nothing more than a bad dream. Alas the blood soaking his uniform displayed the contrary. 

Reehah pushed her through the library door. In the center was a pair of loveseats, a table lamp, and portable gas fireplace. Lining the walls were metal bookshelves. The shelves themselves were plain iridium, but the ends displayed intricate swirls forming miniature Earths. Dividing each section was a bookend or knick-knack. Each managed to not only be relevant to the section’s theme but also an ode Nicole’s childhood on Earth. Monuments, gang symbols, Sentinel logos, biotic training camp memories, everything proving Nicole was more than a statistic. She was obsessed with proving her individualism, that much was obvious, obsessed with informing the world biotics are people too. An admirable endeavor, Reehah thought, wasted on a planet that treated biotics with nothing but abuse. Little Pandora didn’t understand the significance of the pictures around here. Books stacked to the ceiling left nooks and crannies just large enough for a girl and a baby to hide. Thick novels, paperback plays, hardcover classics, thin memoirs. Nicole loved anything and everything. Personally Reehah preferred newer, more alien friendly literature. Yet he was not one to judge other species by his own. 

Pandora stood rooted in place, staring at a small shelf at her eye level dedicated to children’s books. They sung of a better time. It took Reehah kneeling down to look her in the eye to jolt her out of her fantasy. He carefully set Wyatt on the floor to put both hands on her shoulders. His eyes shone through the purple glass protecting his immune system. 

“Pandora, I need you to listen to me.” Her eyes focused on a spot to the left of his head. “Dora.” Still no response. “Pandora Adelaide Shepard.” That got her attention. “You need to listen to what I’m saying. I know you want Mommy and Daddy. But they can’t be here right now. It’s just you, Wyatt, and me. I need you to be a good girl and listen to me. I need you to protect Wyatt while I protect you. Can you do that?” She nodded without much enthusiasm. He lifted her onto a shelf and instructed her to climb to the back corner. He then passed off the baby. “I need you to stay here, Dora. Don’t move, no matter what you hear. Can you stay here for Uncle Reehah?” Another grave nod. He blew a kiss to her face, the closest he could come to goodbye. Wearing a mask negated the need to hide his emotions, but the filters did little to block his voice. Reehah didn’t trust himself to keep it together long enough to formulize a proper farewell. As it was he forced himself to shut and lock the door behind him. Her muffled cries made it all the harder.

There were guns hidden in the living room, Nicole’s office, and John’s closet. Despite her adamant notion that her babies should never know what a gun’s embrace could do to your soul, Nicole was also a realist. It was hard not to be when you owned her past. She knew a person could fire a gun faster than use their biotics. Her children were never guaranteed implants, but the one thing she promised them was knowing how to protect themselves. It was now for naught, given her lifeless corpse lying on the street like a worthless animal. That thought pained Reehah the most: their bodies left to decay. Nicole was a survivor, a hero, dammit! And Emily had nothing but hope in her future. The Flocks did not survive gang life on Earth; Nicole did not survive the most brutal boot camp in history; Emily did not survive a blitz; neither of them suffered so much only to be brought down by hordes of nameless aliens in the name of personal reward. Emily’s cold, dead arms, wrapped tight around their clammy, pasty daughter. Destiny’s eyes, once shining with laughter, now dim with aged fear. Even his niece and nephew, heavens knew where they were, skulls naked to the environment. The grisly image danced on his eyelids. It would haunt him to his deathbed.

One gun, an old shotgun, was hidden within the depths of the ancient television set. He had training in shotguns from his Pilgrimage preparations. Gun in hand, he positioned himself beside the couch, back to the kitchen, eyes fixed on the front door. Sooner or later the batarians would realize the entire population of a mining town couldn’t fit in the square. There was plenty of time between initial contact and hiding the children. Speak of the devil. Shouts and fire echoed down the street, obscenities translated by the tool installed in Reehah’s suit. He took a deep breath and steadied his grip. Two young lives depended on him now. Slowly the voices approached. Eventually they busted down the front door. Just two of them, each in mercenary armor and armed to the teeth. Reehah’s hands twitched. This was a battle he would most certainly lose. 

But I can’t, he thought. Dora and Wyatt need me. Without me, they’re as good as dead. So he clutched the gun a little tighter, took aim, and fired. The slug tore through the leading batarian’s chest, smoothly through a chink in the armor. Reehah had little time to celebrate, though, given the sudden arrival of backup. Several more batarians flooded the living room. The quarian put up an admirable fight, that much was certain. He punched, kicked, and clawed until a batarian got the better of him and smashed the butt of his rifle into his head. They laughed, boasting of their kindness demonstrated by not cracking his envirosuit.

Hidden in the back corner of the bookshelves, Pandora tried to melt into the shadows. She had complete faith in her uncle. She didn’t have faith in the Alliance, given they hadn’t shown up by now. Nicole always said the Human Systems Alliance would always exist to assist its people. At first call they’d arrive guns blazing to save the day. Pandora was pretty sure they weren’t coming today. Not one hundred percent certain, but enough to realize her family was doomed. Her sobs died down to soft whimpers, quiet enough to not draw attention. However, they woke the sleeping baby beside her. Wyatt looked around in confusion, realized Mommy and Daddy weren’t there, and promptly began wailing. Dora frantically made funny faces, patted his back, held him close, anything to stop the cries. They only grew louder at each attempt. She heard the batarians approaching, pausing outside the thin wooden door. Every door, window, and wall in the house was thinner than building regulations called for. At the time Nicole needed every penny going towards the food budget. Wyatt released another untimely scream. That’s when the door flew off its hinges and Pandora’s life ended.

Combat boot marks imprinted onto the wood. Rusty metal hinges gave way with little force. Every gun was drawn and pointed in the direction of the children. One fired, and the bullet missed Pandora’s head by millimeters. Some of her long black locks floated gently to the ground. Twelve individual eyes stared at the corner. Surely one of them noticed. Another bullet fired, this time shattering the Shakespeare shelf. Pandora couldn’t maintain perfection forever. She screamed and shouted for her mother. The batarians took advantage and dragged her and her cousin out the door. First Pandora was completely still, accepting her fate, and she refrained from fighting back. Then she saw her uncle lying facedown on the carpet beside the television. Still the game hadn’t been turned off. His mangled body inspired a new wave of adrenaline. Her attacks did little to actually harm them, but it was the thought that counted. From that day forward she never went down without a fight. The batarians laughed at the sight: a beanpole human child thinking she somehow posed a threat to three well-armed kinsmen. To them, it was almost comical. In Pandora’s mind, it was do-or-die. She continued to screech for assistance beyond her home until a burlap sack was placed over her head, suffocating her.

o8o

It could have been days, weeks, or even months now. There were no windows aboard the ship, no real way to measure the time. Every day held the same schedule with no break from the vicious cycle. Wake to loosened bowels, pray for scraps of food no matter the quality, watch cellmates be dragged off at random, and wait for your turn in the hands of Satan. Each captive had a specific purpose: intelligence, skilled tasks, proficient fighting abilities, Alliance ties. For the unlucky few too young to be of much use, their days consisted of amusing the batarians. Most activities were too unthinkable to mention. All of the soldiers died during the first push of the raid. With them died the colonist’s last tangible sign of hope. If the Alliance picked up on any of the distress beacons they would have arrived ages ago. Dead soldiers did no good. Reehah vas Mindoir was the first to admit that.

Their cell was rancid from the buildup of three week’s worth of urine and fecal matter. Rotted scraps of dextro foods were pushed to the side, any traces of amino acids long since consumed by the ravenous Pandora. Just outside the door rested the remains of Mindoir colonists in varying stages of decay. Screams filtered through the air. Nothing but pain and suffering existed inside the batarians’ ship. In the time spent inside the dismal cell, Reehah did not scream once. Not when they tortured him for information, not when they nearly shut his suit down, and certainly not when they injected him with some alien fever. He did beg when they came for Pandora, but his voice always remained frightfully calm. Only once did Reehah scream. That was when they murdered his baby.

It started when Wyatt became scared of the constant deathly silence the first few days the colonists were aboard. His cries obviously antagonized the batarians, but the problem was quickly rectified by his father’s voice. All was well. Then, a few days later, a new problem arose: hunger. Reehah gladly sacrificed any levo scraps to Pandora. Wyatt was far pickier. He did not settle for moldy bread and fruit. So he cried and cried and cried. When he finally attempted a few bites he wailed his displeasure. No amount of placating quieted him. Somehow Dora sensed what would happen and tried her hardest to prevent it. Eventually the batarians grew sick of the baby’s squalls and the girl’s babbling. So, while Pandora provided entertainment and Reehah took a turn in the torture chamber, a lookout unlocked the cell, carefully unwrapped the swaddled bundle, and snapped Wyatt’s neck.

Reehah returned first. He preferred that so Dora never spent a moment alone. Left alone memories took precedence, and a child’s imagination was a dangerous thing. His head bowed, he stepped through the door and began his customary scan of the cell. Everything was how he left it, including Wyatt’s bundle, which lay completely still. Normally he could sense his father’s arrival and greeted him with excited waving of his tiny limbs. This time there was nothing. Once the batarian left Reehah curiously made his way to the center and gently unfolded the layer of blankets. Dim light from the hallway illuminated his actions. He unwrapped the last layer. He gasped and choked out a broken question to no one. His knees gave out and he buried his head in his hands. Already Wyatt’s lips were blue and his skin pale. Reehah couldn’t see anything else. For hours he sat there unable to do anything but stare blankly at the wall. He barely comprehended the thought: his son was dead. Dead and gone and nothing could bring him back. Some time later a batarian arrived to remove the body, a small miracle. At least he wouldn’t have to explain the situation to Pandora immediately. That was the first and last time she crossed his mind. It took his child dying to force Reehah into selfishness for a few hours.

Sweating profusely, Pandora stumbled out of the captain’s quarters. Her mind trained itself to shut down against the vile actions of the captain. They had no concept of the stigma humans placed upon the corruption of young girls, treating them as they would any other. They took human females as the ultimate score. The few aboard the ship were the prizes, trophies to flaunt to their enemies. Before a camera they performed horrible acts to Pandora and the other women. All she knew was she didn’t like it. Whatever they did to her, it hurt, and it made her want her mother all the more. Mommy would explain it and make it go away. Mommy never lied, never omitted the truth when it might be convenient, and Mommy zapped the pain away. Uncle Reehah warned her, however, that Mommy and Daddy were never coming back. Her child’s mind assumed that meant so long as they were aboard the ship. 

She hoped they left soon. Wyatt’s cries and Reehah’s blabbering got old fast. She loved her uncle and cousin, but Pandora wanted Clint and Tori back. She heard their laughter off in the distance but somehow knew they were left behind on Mindoir. Somewhere, behind the layers of blank nothing, she knew what really happened. Deep inside Dora knew reality was far more terrifying than anything her imagination could concoct. Reehah and Wyatt were all she had left. When she reached her cell, she saw her uncle waiting inside. Yet instead of opening his arms in preparation for intense hugging, he sat squarely in the middle, staring blankly at a pile of blankets. She hurried in and stood silently at the door. This was new. Normally Reehah was completely in control. After a few minutes she hugged his shoulder, neither knowing nor caring what caused the lapse. Instinctually she knew something was wrong and Reehah needed her. For once she could be useful. Together they sat there in silence, Reehah occasionally flushing his system, Pandora sensing a reason behind the lack of Wyatt’s cries.

Time took on a new meaning once it was just the two of them. Pandora didn’t know what to do with herself without a baby to entertain. She took to lying in the corner and daydreaming of the world outside. Reehah filled his time by remaining lost in memory. The cell across the hall contained a young colonist, a woman found cowering in the mines. Every so often they hosted whispered conversations. Nothing more than scant comforts, but talking with a fellow adult helped them both. Conditions worsened the more people succumbed to the disastrous lifestyle. Reehah himself felt his life weakening. By the time the Alliance arrived, if they did at all, he would be long gone. Pandora was to survive at his own expense. His movements slow, Reehah lowered his aching joints to their makeshift bed and attempted to catch a few hours’ rest before a batarian arrived at the cell.

Loud bangs woke the two of them. Outside the cell was chaos. Bullets flew everywhere. An orange drone floated down attacking exclusively batarians. Soldiers in blue raced each other, shooting aliens and unlocking doors. Their door flung open with enough force to rip it off its hinges. The liberator found himself at the business end of a pistol for his efforts, unable to prevent the bullet from piercing his armor at such close quarters. Dora let out a squeak and hid behind her uncle’s legs. The batarian grabbed Reehah in response and swung him around to the hall. A gun pressed to the quarian’s head, he shouted for amnesty in return for an unharmed, knowledgeable hostage. His words were lost in the din. Crossfire flew around them, keeping Reehah still for fear of taking a bullet. Every other second his eyes flicked to his niece, wanting nothing more than to hug her one final time. More soldiers poured in from the hull breach. They fired recklessly. Assumed all living prisoners had the sense to remain in their cells until the firefight was over. Didn’t realize one of the prisoners stood outside his cell acting as a shield against the constant onslaught of bullets. From there Pandora had a clear view of her uncle’s battered body.

Liberation paled in comparison to the death of her last connection to her parents. Completely broken from countless sufferings the past several weeks, all she could do was stare. Stare and hope it was all a bad dream. Hope her eyes would jolt open and Nicole’s face would dominate her field of vision assuring her Mommy is here. When nothing of the sort happened in the next few seconds, Pandora’s eyes shot open. Reehah was still there, long gone. Wyatt’s blankets still remained in her corner. The only thing that changed was the presence of a young man standing before her. She backed off, not sure if he was friend or foe. His armor was solid blue, not the standard black of the batarians, and his tinted visor popped up to reveal a kindhearted face. Seeing he meant no harm, his gun tucked away and his hands raised, Dora slowly crept forwards. Then she sprinted to his leg and hugged it in a death grip. She bawled, the terror finally catching up. This was the first person outside her uncle to display anything other than violence in weeks. Almost awkwardly the man tried to detach her from his leg but soon found she had a grip of steel. Tighter still Pandora clung, eyes closed to the carnage.

Eventually the man managed to loosen her hold enough to bend down to eye level. She focused on a spot beyond his left shoulder, but he decided to ignore that for the moment. “Hello there, child. My name’s David. I’m here for you. Will you let me carry you?” 

She made no response against it, so he wrapped his hands around her too thin waist and hoisted her to his hip. Checking if the coast was clear, David sprinted to the hull breach, figuring he was granted special amnesty from the rest of the fighting with the girl. Every so often she peeked out from his armor to watch the destruction of her prison. He had no idea what she made of it, what the mind of a traumatized child registered. Regardless, David attempted to shield her eyes with his shoulder guard. The scene was nasty even by his standards, and he survived the First Contact War. Before long they reached the relative safety of the shuttle. Far fewer soldiers made it for liftoff. David sat alone in a corner, the girl on his lap. The others chatted about the mission or began their personal reports. There would be time to mourn later. How dare they speak so casually about the slaughter of the last colonists of Mindoir. 

To distract the girl David turned her around so she faced him. “What’s your name, child?” His smile warm, his face friendly, anything to keep her focused on him and not the aliens bleeding out around them.

Dora raised her eyes tentatively. This man didn’t openly hate her, didn’t try to kill her, which was more than she could say about the batarians. “My name is Pandora.”

“Pandora. That’s a very pretty name. Is there a just as pretty last name as well?”

“Pandora Adelaide Shepard.” She prattled it off like a drill. The man was obviously Alliance and Nicole made sure her children treated soldiers with all due respect. Before long youngsters would forget the valor of soldier’s actions, nearly completely until the next war. All the while Dora studied the remaining men and women. She knew the topic of their conversation but was too numb to care. The only thought left was the burning memory of her uncle’s destroyed body. Not understanding how to process the information, she reverted to a pale husk of the former Pandora Shepard. Any help the military might grant was past due. Nothing could reverse the damage a shipload of batarian pirates wreaked on the helpless mining colony of Mindoir. Now the universe suffered a setback of iridium, the Alliance suffered the loss of an outstanding Sentinel, and Pandora suffered under the burden of watching everyone she loved die.

Instantly David knew what raced through her mind. The kid’s face was an open book. Trying to distract her from her thoughts, he replied, “Now that is a pretty name. I haven’t heard that anywhere in Council space. You ever see space?” 

At the shake of her head he lifted her to a nearby window. Dora’s eyes went wide as he explained how stars formed, how some could grow to support planets, the adventures he had on those planets during the First Contact War. He wasn’t completely certain, but he was mostly sure she forgot about the horrors lurking in her subconscious. Each story brought a certain wide-eyed wonder bringing back absent childlike curiosity. His stories passed the time until the shuttle connected with the main starship. Hustle and bustle resumed on both sides as the doors opened. Technicians entered first; followed by medical staff, ready to treat wounded soldiers and the surviving hostages alike. 

David trailed the doctor holding the girl. Despite only knowing her for a few moments he felt a strong connection to her. Pandora survived so much, her and her uncle, almost made it out alive to heal together. Then, at the last minute, his careless squad murdered her last remaining connection to her surname. He got that. Therefore he trailed the woman, guns and armor forgotten.

The doctor set Dora on an examination table and turned to David. “Lieutenant Anderson, you should be in the armory.” He shrugged in response. “Oh well, you’re already here. Maybe she will respond to you. Let’s take a look, young lady.” Deft hands searched Dora’s body, pausing at injuries, symptoms of affliction, and signs of mistreatment, wincing slightly at each new addition. How the child survived was a wonder. Finished with her initial examination, the doctor tried to lay Dora down to administer morphine. Dora simply refused. She didn’t lay down, pushed against the hands, stared down the doctor without an ounce of fear or trepidation. At last she gave up. “I have other soldiers to attend to. Lieutenant, see if you can inject her with this. She trusts you a hell of a lot more than she trusts me.”

David took the needle and held it before Pandora, letting her fingers graze the plastic vial. He explained what it was and why they insisted upon giving it to her. He kept it simple but shirked no facts. She seemed to appreciate the gesture. 

After Dora agreed to the morphine he departed for the armory. Blood soaked armor clung to his under suit. The triggers of the guns were so sticky they refused to give. While he stripped and showered David pondered the fate of the hostage. After typical Alliance procedures Pandora would surely be placed in the foster care system on the nearest human colony. If she were unlucky she’d be stuck on the Citadel, waiting for transportation to a human settlement that would never come. Either way the situation didn’t bode well. The traumatized child would have no chance at recovery. David couldn’t live with himself if he subjected her to that. Behind the layers of pain and sadness lurked a carefree innocent girl waiting to be released. Remnants they may be, but Pandora Shepard deserved to be happy. Somehow he would keep an eye on her, make sure they treated her right. Access to Alliance databanks should allow that. If worse came to worse…actually, he didn’t know what he’d do. He’d figure it out if they got there. For Pandora’s sake he hoped it didn’t.

Hot water suddenly stopped pouring out of the shower head, jolting him out of his monologue. Soldiers were only allowed five minutes of hot water, a far cry from the unlimited supply in the captain’s cabin. It was nowhere near enough to clean every crevice of his body. The stalls around him held the rest of his squad, making plans to mourn those they lost. Not a word was given about the numerous hostages killed in the crossfire. Not entirely atypical, given the company, but rather heartless nonetheless. David hoped they had the sense to keep their mouths shut around Pandora. He spoke briefly with each in turn as they dressed. Only one asked about the child he carried out. He explained the best he could. Then they left, eager to complete mission reports before dinner. David took the long way to the common area past the med bay. Pandora was totally out of it, allowing the doctor to treat her wounds. Neither noticed David standing outside. He watched her refuse to answer any question pertaining to the events on the ship. He watched her throw a temper tantrum when the doctor attempted to lift her shirt. He watched the normally calm woman storm off frazzled, unused to unpredictable children. Vowing to return later, he stopped putting off his reports and went to the common area.

Days passed before the ship was back in Council space. Days more until the Council phoned in, ordering an appearance before them as soon as possible. Dora was nowhere near ready for such a spectacle. Having learned of the night terrors plaguing her sleep, the doctor let her out of the med bay. Instinctively she found herself on the floor next to David’s bed. Once David found out by nearly crushing her as he sleepily rolled out of bed, he allowed her to claim the bottom half of his bunk. That turned into her clutching his torso for comfort throughout the night. He didn’t mind. Gradually he found himself caring for the girl. She didn’t talk, didn’t play, hardly ever ate. But sometimes, beneath the layers of pain and hurt, there were glimpses of the innocent troublemaker causing headaches for everyone involved. Very, very occasionally soldiers found their shoes swapped, uniforms wrinkled, personal items mismatched. Nothing enough to cause strife, nothing more than squabbles and chuckles. Those days were few and far between, especially as the Council debated her fate, and the rest of her time was consumed by staring at the various walls of the ship. No one was allowed near; any who tried promptly left due to unsavory behavior. David sat near her whenever he could. He was the only one. They would color, markers and actual paper never far from reach. David told stories, light and airy to counteract the bleak images of Pandora’s imagination. Sometimes she almost talked.

They would sit at a table in the mess hall, David tapping away on a report, Dora playing with a doll produced by a crewmember. What started as an innocent dance party morphed into a child’s understanding of rape. She did not seem fazed by the disturbing implications of the act. She carried on with her story. Every so often David glanced up to watch. When the acts did not stop he decided to step in. “That’s quite a scene you’re performing.” She nodded in agreement. “Mind telling me about it?” This time she shook her head no. “You know, what you’re doing there isn’t normal. What the batarians did to you was not good at all. I know you’re still scared and will be for a long time, but it’s okay to talk about it with someone. It doesn’t have to be me, but you really should talk to someone. It will help you feel better.”

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again. Words formed and were disregarded in her mind. As soon as she found the right combination an engineer entered, talking loudly into a headpiece. No way she would say anything with an untrusted face nearby. David sighed in defeat. At this rate Pandora would never discuss her experiences, and she was okay with that. What happened on Mindoir and resulting thereof was safely under lock and key until, many years later, a bottle of fine wine and a few shots of vodka brought it out for the world to see. In some twisted form of homage to her fallen family she refused to bring their memories to light. John and Nicole, Clint and Victoria, they were gone forever. For any child it would take months, perhaps years to accept the fact. So long as everyone kept their distance she would be fine. 

She returned to her play. At least now the disturbance didn’t escalate. It continued a few minutes more, long enough for the engineer to grab food and find a seat near the duo to make conversation with his coworker. Dora tried to wait for them to finish their chat. It was the polite thing to do. While Nicole wasn’t big on proper etiquette (“They’re kids! What do you want them to do, ask for the salt in French?” She then had to explain the very concept of the French language. “Friggin’ colony kids”), but John sure was. Since the age they could comprehend he made sure they knew appropriate introductions, etiquette, and small talk. John made quite the impression on Pandora, only surpassed by her mother, and his lessons stuck in her memory. So she sat in silence, feeling her stomach rumble more and more with each passing second. At last she could stand it no longer. Dora stood, straightening her oversized shirt, and tugged on David’s sleeve.

He tore his eyes away from the engineer’s animated hands to meet Pandora’s face. “What is it, child?” She made no sound, gave no indication other than the hard tugs on his sleeve. Everything must be surmised from her begging eyes. “Are you hungry? Come, then. What do you want?”

Dora pointed at a package of freeze-dried meat and a loaf of bread. Space food counted as some of the worst she’d ever eaten. She wanted the container of leftover fudge in their old refrigerator. The ingredients for her father’s famous homemade casserole rotting on the counter. A meal made by her parents, working in conjunction, fumbling over each other in laughter as sugar somehow ended up in Nicole’s hair. She missed not so much the food but the sense of belonging it brought. Maybe her rescuer could replicate that. She accepted the flattened sandwich and glass of water. Still no words or sounds. It would take more than an uncertain future to prompt words. Dora wanted her parents and siblings, friends and cousins. Baby Wyatt and Uncle Reehah, who kept her days on the ship from entering a complete hell. Aunt Emily, constantly berating her sister over barely perceivable faults. Destiny, only a year younger, who thought Pandora was the greatest thing since humanity spread to the stars. Reehah, who managed to not understand anything about human culture despite being married to a human for years. Her family, gone forever to the records of history.

Once the ship returned to Council space a personal meeting was scheduled with the asari Councilor, Thessia being closest to Mindoir. Frankly the turian and salarian didn’t care about a backwoods mining colony, no matter the tragedy. The asari barely, but someone had to deal with it. Assigning the child to the foster care or orphanage system after extensive interrogations would take no time at all. Pandora didn’t have a clue what was going on. David learned everything from his captain, the barely informed middleman. The ship docked and the crew was granted a few days’ shore leave while the hearing took place. Most wandered the Citadel, earning scorn from the aliens, mourning their fallen comrades. David ended up in the apartment of Kahlee Sanders and, more recently, himself. Thankfully she was away on business and he didn’t have to introduce Pandora to another stranger. A day remained until the day of the appointment.

David would do just about anything to see the wide-eyed look on Pandora’s face again. The first time they entered the apartment she stopped just inside the foyer. Her pupils traveled from the double-sided fireplace to the large television to the spotless décor. Everything was hardly used, servicing two young lovers hardly at home. He hazarded a guess her home on Mindoir was a far cry from this. Her feet glued to the welcome carpet, he realized she was scared to soil a place untouched by children. After all this time she still balked at offending him. God bless her soul, he thought, encouraging her to take a few more steps. 

“Go on.” He gently pressed against her back. “Explore. No one’s here to stop you. Have some fun.” As Dora hesitantly explored each room of the luxury apartment David took the time to compose a message to Kahlee. She deserved a warning, discouraging panic and making it easier on both the women. Who knew when she’d respond, so to kill time, David started another report. Work never took shore leave. He became lost in numbers and evaluations. Consequently he did not notice when a small figure wormed its way under his arm to examine the datapad. Finding nothing interesting, it slid out to sit politely beside him. A few taps later he reached a good breaking point to toss the tablet on the coffee table. “You like it? You have your own room and everything. Much better than bunking on the ship. How ‘bout some food? Real food, not freeze-dried, sorry excuses for meat.” At Dora’s affirmative nod he grabbed her hand and led her to the Zakera Wards.

Lively shopping centers did wonders to eradicate depressing thoughts. Curiosity got the better of her as Dora dragged David through busy streets. Everything was new and exciting. He laughed at the childlike wonder on her face, not knowing nor caring about old feuds between the races. A kindly old hanar preacher took the time to explain the basics of his religion. Food long since forgotten, David let her guide him past the Markets, the adult storefronts, lingering at a clothing store. No armor on the mannequins, just sharp tuxedos and flowing dresses for all ages. He noticed her eyes remain on a display inside. A simple knee-length frock in a light blue, a ribbon tied round the center, sturdy blue shoes to match. David’s own eyes traveled from the dress to Dora, still clothed in makeshift old uniform parts. At the very least she needed something made for a girl her age. 

“Why don’t we go inside, look around a bit?” No sooner than the words left his mouth Dora rushed in to inspect the contents. While she played with accessories David consulted with a clerk. Dora was called for a fitting, not thinking twice about the tape measures wrapped around her waist. She did think twice when David took the bag to the register, beaming in excitement. He paid with a flash of a credit chit, then turned around to collect his charge. Nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

She swung her arms around his waist, the farthest up she could reach. Her smile stretched from ear to ear. Her ponytail slipped over one shoulder. And she spoke. “Thank you, Mr. David. It looks just like Tori’s.”

At that moment all future decisions were made. Pulling her to his hip, one arm latched securely across her back, David realized he could never give this girl up. No matter what the Council said he would take care of her, him and Kahlee. Together they would help Pandora overcome the tragedies of Mindoir. Help rear her into a fine young woman the galaxy would find use for. Give her a home. 

As they sat at a restaurant his decision was fortified. Almost as if to make up for lost words, Pandora spoke the entire time. She explained minute details of her brother and sister. Clint’s fascination with geology. His love for the comic book character Blasto. Victoria’s obsession with the concept of biotics. How she couldn’t wrap her head around the idea of living creatures that didn’t look like her. John coming home from the mines every day and swinging them around in turn without so much as washing his hands. Working with hardly a day off to support growing biotic children and a biotic wife vastly underpaid for her skills. Nicole once bringing her entire squad to a kid-hosted school fundraiser because they thought they would not have a big enough turnout. Every year trying to celebrate the holidays of her youth on Earth despite living in a colony with no knowledge on the matter. Costumes on Halloween, seasonal songs on Christmas, extra affection on Valentine’s Day, drinks aplenty on New Year’s Eve, and a strange meat called turkey on Thanksgiving. Pandora didn’t understand the deeper meaning behind any of it, but she loved it all nonetheless. Her cousin Destiny’s assistance in spraying the house of the mean soldier who hated their mommies bright pink. Wyatt slowly learning to recognize her as family. Aunt Emily’s insistence on finding a home for every child orphaned by the mines. If no one took them, she welcomed them into her home. Ever since signing up for the Vanguard Initiative she babbled nonstop about joining the greats on the battlefield. 

When she mentioned Reehah vas Mindoir Dora finally stopped for air.

“What about Reehah, Pandora? What was he like?” 

Dora drug her spoon around in the melted remains of her hot fudge sundae. Having been granted an extra cushion so she could reach the table, she was able to support her head on her fist. Any traces of excitement drained from her angular face. At last she spoke, her words slurring together due to her lip’s limited range of movement. 

“Uncle Reehah loved staying at home to watch Destiny and Wyatt. Sometimes he came over to watch us. He played Risk every time. He usually won. We played pretend while Tori and Clint did homework. While we were in that ship he got really good at telling stories. Really good. My favorites were about Mommy and Aunt Emily when they were younger. Where is Mommy, Mr. David? When are they coming back?”

Just the conversation he wanted to have over lunch. He had hoped a child her age would be able to comprehend death. No such luck. Either she wasn’t as mature as David originally thought or she repressed any memory of the carnage. Maybe some combination of the two. He was pretty sure she saw at least one of her family members die besides her uncle. From the way she spoke of her family, especially her mother, it made enough sense. He didn’t know how to deal with children; everything thus far was guesswork. He didn’t know if telling a little girl (could it be he still didn’t know her age?) her entire extended family was dead was safe. He was no psychologist, but basic human decency dictated he let her know so she would not latch on to false hope. How to approach that was a different story. He took the timely arrival of the check to gather his thoughts. Dora stared expectantly at him the entire time. 

“Your parents, they uh…they aren’t coming back. They’re on Mindoir forever. Uh…they’re…um…they’re dead.”

At his words Dora’s eyes grew as wide as the bowl before her. Memories of Nicole’s body crushing her own flooded back. “But what about…what about Clint? And Tori? And everyone else?”

“They’re gone too, Pandora. Everyone except you is gone.” 

Tears welled over flashing purple irises, falling faster than a gun from a dead man’s grip. The check already paid, David grabbed her and held her close so she could weep into his shoulder. 

What an idiot, he scolded himself. An hour before her Council hearing and you make her cry. What an idiot. 

As the hour counted down to minutes he frantically tried to stem Pandora’s sobs. Standing outside the respective building, he helped her straighten her dress and realign her pigtails. By now she had calmed down substantially. Not completely calm, but enough for a child who just learned everyone she loved was dead. One final sniffle and she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. Ready to go, he led her past the secretary, into the elevator, and to the platform overlooking Council chambers. Only the asari was present, standing in a position of power in her customary spot. David gulped. He hated the Council. They never accomplished anything but useless infighting. Nothing productive happened until hours of squabbling went down. He kept his hand on Pandora’s shoulder, an anchor for the both of them. 

“Lieutenant Anderson. Miss Shepard,” Tevos began. “We have reviewed mission reports from Mindoir. Given it lies beyond our governing area, the probability of catching the pirates is very low.” She focused on Pandora’s face, the eyes glistening with tears yet again. It did little to faze her. “Due to the sudden shortage of iridium in the outer regions the problem must be addressed quickly. Therefore the public will have questions. To qualm them early we will need to know what happened, and the only living survivor is Miss Shepard. Without her story we have no chance of knowing what occured planetside. That is not a request.” Before David had a chance to object a C-Sec officer appeared out of nowhere and dragged Pandora away. She did not resist. When they were long gone the councilwoman spoke again. “Something must be done with the child. She cannot be trusted with such sensitive information in a public orphanage. For the time being she will be kept on the Citadel-”

“To fight for scraps?” David interrupted loudly. “To live in the ducts with the kids forced to steal for food? You know she won’t leave! They don’t ever leave!” As the councilor opened her mouth he added, “The Citadel is never temporary. Once you’re here your fate is sealed.”

“Very well.” Tevos tried to downplay the severity of his words. To be shown up by a human, no less! “What do you propose then?”

“I volunteer to act as the girl’s caregiver. Both my partner and myself have steady jobs. We have a home. We are more than capable of providing everything she needs. I’ll sign any paperwork that needs signing. Just let me take care of her. Please.”

Tevos pretended to think about it for a moment. In actuality the moment Anderson opened his mouth she spun a way to turn Shepard’s story into one of hope. An inspiring tale brought upon by her benevolence would be just the thing to boost her approval ratings. A happy galaxy was a complacent galaxy. “You may adopt Miss Shepard. The appropriate paperwork will be forwarded to your Alliance personal account. Congratulations, Lieutenant Anderson.”

With a curt nod and a polite smile, David bid the councilor farewell. Once he was outside her viewpoint however, a face-splitting grin broke across his face. Impending fatherhood was a daunting proposition. He realized there was no way he could live up to John and Nicole’s memoryto Pandora. The best he and Kahlee could hope for was to love her the best they could and hope for some in return. Of all the tragedy escaping Mindoir, one bright spot shone through. With any luck Dora would move on and heal, recover but never forget her family. David walked down to C-Sec to make the proper arrangements. Inside an interrogation chamber he heard a faint voice trying to coerce Dora into spilling her memories. If he understood correctly she wasn’t buying the sugary act. 

At least she knows better than to trust them, he thought. No way the Alliance can help her now. He got comfy in a chair to sign document after document. Judging by the increasing tenor of the men’s voices he’d sit there quite awhile.

With no clock there was no way to track the time. David’s bouncing crossed leg went numb, giving the only indication. Then, at long last, the door swooshed open. Two officers exited trailed by Pandora, who was nearly in tears for the third time that day. He grew sick of the ugly look gracing her face so often. She hovered behind them as they spoke with David, sharing their discoveries of a fat lot of nothing. For a six-year-old she was really quite stubborn. When they left he snagged Dora and spun her in a delighted circle. She didn’t speak, probably a result of the brutal interrogations, but that was okay. For now David could do all the talking. “I convinced Councilor Tevos. I have great news. You’re staying with me now. You have a home!” 

Pandora beamed.

o8o

Pandora’s first Christmas ever could have arguably gone much better. In the days leading up to the event she watched and sometimes helped Kahlee set up decorations. She had extensive questions about each. With utter dismay Kahlee learned that while she knew of the holiday, she had only celebrated her mother’s version, which is what she had picked up on the streets. In response every night the three of them curled up on the couch, mugs of hot chocolate in hand, and watched centuries-old holiday vids. Each one brought new candles, wreaths, poinsettias, and batches of cookies. All went well for the first few days after Thanksgiving. Then, on a day both Kahlee and David had off, they surprised Pandora with a large evergreen tree. She came home from school to find the tree beside the bar, nearly reaching the ceiling. Decorating it went fine. So did planting the star on top. But when Pandora accidentally tripped over the lights cord, things went downhill fast. Long story short she ended the day in tears, Kahlee in anger, and David in a mix of the two.

All that was forgotten by the twenty fourth. As a family they enjoyed community activities and went to church. Dora was lost the entire time even with Kahlee explaining each hymn and psalm. On her part she kept an open mind. After the service they returned to old vids and mugs of eggnog. Curled under blankets by the fire, the huge television displaying the ancient Earth favorite Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town, Pandora felt belonged for the first time since leaving Mindoir. 

Yet she was utterly confused when David woke her early the next morning with a wide smile. The smile was normal, the seven on the alarm clock was not. Her questions were answered with slippers being thrust into her hands. She slipped out of bed. She barely had time to use the bathroom. Halfway through washing her hands David opened the door to lead her to the living room. Again she questioned him, this time about the need to cover her eyes. Again she was answered with silence. Her confusion grew. She felt herself be led to the fireplace where she knew the tree sat not far away. So far she accepted bizarre Earth traditions, but this was just getting weird. “Why are you doing this, Mr. David?”

“Just a few more seconds, Pandora. Kahlee, get the lights!” There was a flurry of movement from the kitchen, bleeding into the living room. “Merry first Christmas, Pandora. Here’s to many more.”

Dora stared at the pile of brightly wrapped presents. The tree’s branches began about a meter off the floor, and the available space was completely filled, more spilling out around the base. Some had bows, Kahlee’s way of marking particularly special gifts. Several large bags sat at the front. The stockings they hung weeks before bulged with candy and fresh fruit. A platter of piping hot cookies and cups of milk sat on the coffee table. The fire already blazed heartily. It took pushes from David and several encouragements for her to plop down beside the tree. Kahlee showed her the proper way to unwrap a present. Dora ended up tearing the paper into uneven shreds, but she left the presents themselves untouched. There were plenty of clothes, enough to last her well into the early blossoms of womanhood. There were heaps of toys; anything she might’ve played with on Mindoir. A few Earth items to act as educational tools. Any necessary items not amassed over the past several months. Slowly the pile diminished. Stacked to the side was her loot. Beside the sizable mound perched her adoptive parents, content with nothing more than a few boxes and the growing delight on the girl’s face. She tore through the last box and turned to the couch.

“I think there’s something behind the tree,” Kahlee said. “Go take a look.”

Pandora scrambled behind the base to retrieve a smaller box hidden in the branches. It was plainly wrapped, the bow a gaudy shade of purple. A few shades lighter and it would match her eyes. Inside a protective layer of foam lay a bundle of printed photographs. Some were pulled from news stories and the Extranet. Some were taken from reports and Alliance High Command. Others were found in the rubble on Mindoir. Depicted in a few was the town how it was before the raiders. There was a wide variety of her family: at home, at school, at work. The children involved in a lively rendition of whatever movie premiered that week. John enjoying his lunch break outside with friends, his face captured in a laugh. Emily in a training simulation, fierce determination dominating her body, biotics flaring in an explosion. Nicole granting an inspiring speech to her squad. The Flocks during their service during the Blitz, killing with hardly a second thought, locked in battle with alien creatures. Reehah even starred in a few, ranging from his time in the Fleet to when he first set foot on Mindoir. The last had Nicole posing with an intimidating turian. On the back was a message scrawled in unfamiliar handwriting, really Kahlee trying to impersonate Nicole’s neat penmanship. 

Tiberius showed up at the mass funeral. It sucks that so many died in the war, but if I got caught up on deaths I never would’ve made it off Earth. More deaths total if I hadn’t been there. I’ve long since given up on recognition. Em hasn’t and neither has Ti. He wants a medal for me. I don’t care. So long as the Sentinel program keeps its promise. Ti is a good guy. (Man? Male? Do turians even have the whole sex thing? Huh.) We’ll be friends a long time. Or as long as biotics allow. Whichever comes first. See ya soon, Ti. Love ya.

Each picture had a similar message on the back. Pandora suspected they were journal entries. That picture was the only one with imitation handwriting; the rest matched what she remembered of her mother’s. She didn’t bother to read the rest. She tucked them carefully into the packaging before launching herself at David and Kahlee. They were encompassed in a flying bear hug. Words could not express her gratitude, but they understood just fine. This was the happiest she’d felt in months, maybe even since the family dinner the night before the attack. All that mattered sat before Dora. She finally felt at home.


End file.
